Chapter 147: She’ll Call... I Know It

I turned to Sarah before stepping out from behind the parked vehicle.

"Sarah, if this doesn’t go smoothly, step out of the car and come talk to her," I said quietly. "She’s terrified and furious right now. Woman-to-woman, maybe she’ll actually listen to you."

Sarah nodded solemnly. "Understood, Mr. Ethan. I’m right behind you."

I walked up the creaky, rusted metal steps leading to her apartment entrance. Benita was leaning against the peeling doorframe, her face buried in her knees as muffled sobs shook her small frame.

I reached into my pocket, pulled out a clean, pristine white silk handkerchief, and extended it toward her.

"Here," I said softly.

Without looking up, she reached out blindly, taking it into her trembling hands. "Thank you..." she mumbled, her voice thick and raspy from crying.

She wiped her eyes, took a ragged breath, and finally raised her gaze to see who had given it to her.

The second her eyes locked onto my face, her entire body went stiff. Pure shock flashed across her tear-stained features, instantly morphing into raw panic and defensiveness. She scrambled backward against the locked door, clutching her bag to her chest like a shield.

"Are you... are you stalking me?!" she shrieked, her voice echoing down the dark, empty street. Her eyes darted around frantically, wide with fear. "What the hell do you want from me?! You followed me all the way to my house?!"

She looked like she was one second away from screaming for the neighbors or pulling out a weapon. Her posture was completely on guard, every instinct telling her she was in danger.

"Calm down," I said, holding my hands up open in a placating gesture, taking a step back to give her space. "I’m not here to hurt you, Benita. Just hear me out—"

"Get away from me!" she yelled, her voice cracking as fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. "You destroyed my life in five minutes! Leave me alone!"

Before the situation could spiral out of control, the door of our car clicked open. Sarah stepped out smoothly, holding her hands out peacefully as she walked up the concrete steps with a calm, gentle posture.

"Benita, please wait," Sarah said, her voice soft, warm, and entirely non-threatening as she stepped between us. "Please, don’t scream. Just look at me. I’m going to talk to you, okay? Just listen to me for two minutes."

Benita chest heaved as she stared at Sarah, her guard still sky-high, but the panic in her eyes softened just enough for Sarah to bridge the gap.

Sarah stepped up another stair, keeping her hands low and open, her tone as gentle as a mother talking down a frightened child. "Benita... can I just see the drawings? The ones your manager threw away? That’s the only reason we came."

Benita’s jaw tightened. She clutched her denim bag even closer to her chest, taking a sharp step backward against the rusted apartment door. "No," she said, her voice small, stubborn, and completely shut off. "No. I don’t know who you people are, and I don’t care about your games. Just go."

Silence fell over the stairwell, heavy and suffocating.

Sarah looked over at me, giving a faint, subtle shake of her head. For a second, the frustration flared in my chest. We had flown across the world, brought billions in capital, and possessed a system that guaranteed her a 9.9 global ascension—yet her trauma, fear, and toxic environment had built a wall so thick she couldn’t see the hand reaching out to pull her out of the mud.

I took a deep breath, letting the urge to force the issue melt away. You can’t force someone to see their own light before they’re ready.

I stepped forward slowly, stopping two steps below her so she didn’t feel cornered.

"You have a gift, Benita," I said, my voice quiet, grounded, and entirely sincere. "You have the talent to become one of the greatest trendsetters this world has ever seen. But this place... this environment will slowly choke it out of you until there’s nothing left."

She didn’t answer, though her eyelashes fluttered slightly, her dark eyes tracking my face through her unshed tears.

I reached into my inner hoodie pocket, pulled out a thick, textured black card embossed with gold lettering—Hidden Gem Investments—and placed it gently on the top step, right near her worn leather boot.

"I won’t rush you," I said softly. "When you’re ready to stop surviving and start building what you were actually born to create... call me."

I turned around without waiting for another word. "Let me know when you’re ready, Sarah. We’re leaving."

Sarah gave Benita one last warm, sympathetic look before turning her back. We walked down the crumbling concrete steps together, stepping into the quiet night and getting into the waiting car.

Through the tinted glass as the engine turned over, I looked back at the apartment stairs. Benita was still standing there alone in the dark, staring down at the gold-embossed card resting on the cold concrete.

"Are we heading back to the hotel, Mr. Ethan?" Sarah asked quietly from the passenger seat.

"Yeah," I replied, leaning my head back against the leather seat as the vehicle rattled down the dirt road. "She’ll call."

Before we left the district, I turned to Sarah in the car. "Find her landlord, pay off her entire rent for the next year in cash, and make sure he keeps our name out of it. Give her room to breathe."

"Consider it done, Mr. Ethan," Sarah replied softly.

Back at the hotel, three long days dragged by. The pace was excruciatingly slow. Without high-speed internet or the fast-paced demands of our headquarters, I spent most of my time sprawling on the suite’s leather couch, flicking through the outdated satellite TV. Every single local channel was terrible—grainy broadcasts, low-budget local soaps, and static-heavy news reports.

"What the actual hell is this programming?" I muttered, tossing the remote onto the glass coffee table in sheer boredom.

I sat up, resting my elbows on my knees. "Sarah, what’s the update on Benita?"

Sarah walked out from the kitchenette, holding a cup of warm water, her face unusually pale and her forehead glistening with a light sheen of sweat.

"Her landlord was paid in full yesterday, sir," she said, her voice sounding a little weak. "She has zero idea where the money came from. As far as she knows, her rent is covered for the year, so she won’t be evicted while she looks for a path forward."

"Good," I nodded, noticing how strained her posture was. "Are you alright? You look terrible."

Sarah winced, holding her stomach as a sharp wave of discomfort hit her. "I... I don’t feel good at all, Mr. Ethan. My stomach is twisting in knots. I think... I think it was that local street food vendor from two nights ago."

I couldn’t help but shake my head, remembering the greasy meat skewers she had insisted on trying near the market while I politely declined.

"I told you that meat looked suspicious," I said, a slight, sympathetic curve at the corner of my lips as I stood up. "You’ve got food poisoning. Go lie down in your room, Sarah. The empire can pause for a few hours while you recover."

She gave a tired, grateful nod, shuffling toward her bedroom. Just as she closed the door, my phone—sitting on the glass table—began to vibrate against the surface.

An unknown local number was flashing on the screen.